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300 pages, Unknown Binding
First published May 1, 2018
Zebadiah was sweet; he drank a lot, as did everyone, but he didn't do drugs called crystal meth, and it was hard to imagine him setting his mother's couch on fire. He wore eyeliner and long black prairie skirts, painted his nails black, and was totally straight. Zebadiah spoke in a truly authentic California surfer accent. He didn't seem very bright, but I wondered if such accents made people sound dumb. Perhaps I was prejudiced against Californian voices. Because I feared Zebadiah was not smart, I resisted his advances, unless we were both drinking vodka --- which was any time after sundown --- when I would make out with him forever and later pretend it never happened.